


Crane Your Neck

by marryingthebed



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Historical AU, M/M, Mail Order Bride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:43:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marryingthebed/pseuds/marryingthebed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester waits for his bride, and ends up getting something completely different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, this took too long! Based on prompt from the destielficprompts tumblr asking for a mail-order bride au. Should be around twelve chapters long. Title taken from Lady Lamb the Beekeeper.

The train station is mostly empty, but then, it always is. After fifteen years spent away from the hustle and bustle of the city Dean’s almost used to the quietness of Patience, California, even though some days he still thinks he’ll go half-crazy from it.

Patience, California, population 215. Soon to become 216, Dean thinks to himself. Because he isn’t just stopping by the train station to say hello to Ash, who looks after the place, replaces the floorboards when they start creaking too loud, copies the timetables down neatly. No, Dean is waiting for his bride.

He and Anna Milton met through a faded scrap of newspaper, found in the back of the advertising section, so small he might’ve missed it, if not for his brother’s sharp eyes. “Twenty years of age, with a fine figure and housekeeping abilities,” that’s what it said about her. 

And when he’d written to her, she had such lovely handwriting, her words sounding soft and sweet and careful in his head. Already he could see her, based half on the photograph she’d sent him and half on his own imaginings, taking care of Sam in a tender, motherly way that Dean himself could never quite manage, making the cold nights in their tiny house seem a little warmer, a little less lonely, just with her gentleness. 

It had been three months of him eagerly checking the post office every other day before he’d sent her money for the train fare, and she promised she’d come as quickly as possible, giving him an approximate date and time.

And now here he is, in his Sunday best (Sam’s idea, of course, saying that first impressions were important), trying hard not to worry. 

Because what if Patience isn’t what she expected? He knows the town is a bit rough around the edges, and the people haven’t exactly been raised to be well-mannered and polite like Anna probably has (Ms. Milton, he corrects himself, not wanting to seem to familiar at their first meeting), but hell, neither have he and Sam, and she’d seemed to like his short, callous letters well enough. 

He hears the train before he sees it, loud enough that the floorboards beneath his feet seem to shake a little. From his perch behind the ticket booth Ash grins at him, and Dean’s so nervous for a second that he has to remind himself to smile back. 

The train stops, the conductor stepping out calmly, dust settling in the folds of his uniform.

The first person to step off after him is Jody Mills’s “gentleman friend,” the one the ladies in town could never seem to stop gossiping about. He’s looking rather ungentlemanly at the moment, beard thick and wiry, manners just as tangled, as he shoves off the conductor’s helping hand and shuffles off on his own, walking in the direction of the general store, where Dean knows Jody will be.

Then there is another man on the platform, one Dean doesn’t recognize, just a bit too thin, his hair presumably made messy by the train ride. Either way, he is not Anna, and Dean sighs, knowing that their town is a small one, only expecting so many visitors, and thus the next person on the platform will be his wife-to-be. 

But there is no one. The conductor tips his hat to Dean before returning to his post, and pretty soon the train is thundering down the track again, leaving plenty of dust in its wake. 

The pain that cuts through Dean’s chest is enough to make him want to double over. Thankfully he doesn’t, just freezes for a moment, as if if he stays exactly where he is the train will come back again, the conductor apologizing for forgetting a passenger, and then Anna will be stepping off, smiling softly at him.  

Thus it takes him a moment to realize the other passenger is walking hesitantly towards them, only stopping when they are face to face, mere inches between their noses. Dean steps back nervously.

“You are Dean Winchester,” the man says, the statement not quite a question.

“C-can I help you?” Dean asks, really just wanting to return home.

“I am Castiel Milton,” the man replies, as if what he’s saying isn’t twisting something in Dean’s stomach.

“You’re--” Dean laughs, the sound harsh against the relative quiet of the station. “I mean, pardon?”

“I am Castiel Milton. Anna’s brother.” And suddenly Dean knows, just from the way this stranger’s voice stutters over Anna’s name. 

Still, he has to ask. “She’s not coming, is she?”

Castiel swallows, hard, and Dean realizes the other man is likely just as nervous as he is. “My sister, she is….she has…” He takes a deep breath. “She is ill.”

“What?” He feels dizzy, and strangely hurt. He kept telling himself that it didn’t matter if she didn’t show, it was always going to be him and Sam anyway, he’d known it from the beginning, and the casual affection he’d felt stutter through his chest at her letters probably hadn’t even been love anyway. 

“Two days ago. It was...She always possessed a strong constitution. When our brother, Gabriel, fell ill it was decided she ought to be the one to care for him. We did not expect….” 

“Oh.” That’s all he can think to say at the moment, the word hanging too sharp between them. But then he returns to himself, snaps “And you’re here because?”

Anna’s brother bites his lip again. “Father thought it would be best.”

“Best?”

“To inform you of this in person. And he-he would like it if I stayed with you.”

Dean takes a step back. “Excuse me?”

“It would only be a few days. I could help care for your brother, you--Anna said you were having trouble with him.” It’s funny, the deeper into the conversation they get, the more Dean finds himself _noticing_ this Castiel--how he shifts his feet when he talks, and has a tendency of leaning far too close. There is a cross hanging from his neck, backing Anna’s claim that her family was deeply religious, though she herself was a bit more doubtful. 

And God, _Anna_. How sick was she? Or maybe, Dean thinks to himself, his stomach twisting even worse than before, this man is lying to him. Maybe there has never been an Anna, the whole thing a lie. 

“Dean?” the near-stranger standing in front of him asks, tilting his head slightly. “I-i understand that we are strangers, with only the slightest of connections, but…” He looks away suddenly, turning his neck to examine the shabby town stretched out before them. “Please don’t make me go back there,” he whispers.

And just like that, Dean knows he can’t say “no.”


	2. Chapter 2

“You are very kind,” Castiel says, like he is remarking upon the weather. The wagon ride back to Sam and Dean’s ramshackle little house is spent mostly in silence, and it is only when they are passing the old LaFayette place that the stranger sitting beside Dean decides to speak up.

“Least I could do for my future in-law,” Dean replies, giving Castiel the same easy, too-sharp grin he started using after his father left. 

The other man seems to stiffen at this, but instead of explaining anything he simply asks “Do you often help people you hardly know?”

“Not exactly. The way things work around here, everybody pretty much helps each other. Not like in the city. We’re a family, you know?”

“But I thought it was just you and your brother.”

Dean laughs. “What, with the whole _town_ to ourselves?”

“No, I--” Castiel is blushing, even his neck turning a faint shade of pink. Sammy used to blush like that, Dean thinks, when he was younger and not as used to his older brother’s teasing. “My siblings and I, we don’t go out very much.”

“Really? Not even living in the city like you do?” It might’ve been fifteen years since he’d seen a building taller than two stories, but Dean could still remember the irresistible traffic of the city, leaning out his window late at night and simply watching the lights beneath him, wanting to go out and see and do everything he possibly could. 

“Father does not--” he falters, looking just as nervous as when he first stepped off the train. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“All right.” Dean whistles, low and soft, and before anything else can be said he sees a familiar slanted roof appear on the horizon. “Hey, here we are!”

The look on Sam’s face when they step inside is almost enough to split Dean’s heart in two, because it’s just how he imagined he looked at the train station--hopeful and slightly nervous. It’s quickly replaced by confusion, though, once he sees that the person standing next to Dean is most definitely not pretty, petite Anna Milton. 

“Sam, this is, uh--how do you say your name again?”

“Castiel.”

“Right, this is Castiel, and, well, he can explain everything else,” Dean mumbles, loosening his collar and practically collapsing in the rickety old armchair once solely inhabited by his father. 

Sam pulls one of his patented “sympathetic” faces, nodding understandably at every word out of Castiel’s mouth. At this point Dean should be used to it--whether it’s the Barnes’ new calf or Ash’s busted knee, his brother always manages to be so damn _caring_. Even now, after a day spent looking after the land on his own, having to ditch school so that his brother can wait at the station for a bride of his that isn’t even going to bother showing up  

No, Dean corrects himself. Anna’s sick. She’s sick, but soon she’ll get better (she _has_ to get better, or else it’ll just be a lifetime of Dean and his brother receiving those pitying looks from half the town), and everything will turn out all right. It hasn’t before, but maybe this time it will.  

“How sick is she?” Sam asks, practically taking the words right out of Dean’s mouth.

Castiel frowns, not looking either of the brothers in the eye. “Not...too unwell. We’re not exactly certain of the severity of her condition at the moment. I will write my brothers tomorrow morning, and ask them if she has improved at all since yesterday. Perhaps she will feel well enough to write back.” 

“W-what,” Dean stammers, blushing despite himself, “what’s she like?”

It takes Castiel a moment to answer, as if he’s considering what to say carefully. “My sister is stubborn, more so even than our older brothers. When we were younger, and Michael and Luke would fight, she would try to join them, get right in the middle of it. Father would never approve, of course--he said she had to be a lady, and make her go back to her sewing. But Anna,” he smiles softly, caught in the memory. “Anna was always the best at defying him.” 

Later, when Sam has gone out to his hideaway above the barn, and Castiel is lying on the small cot they had set up beside the kitchen table, Dean whispers to him “Hey, what did you mean earlier?”

Cast (and for some reason, that’s what Dean’s started calling him now, just in his head), propping himself up onto his elbows. “Would you mind specifying? 

“When you said that, um, you didn’t want to go back there. You running from something? ‘Cuz, I mean, it wouldn’t be all that bad if you were--Ash is supposedly wanted in two states, and Jody’s ‘gentleman friend’ always refuses to talk about his past, but I don’t know, you don’t exactly seem to be a criminal, and--”

“Dean,” Cas says firmly, and Dean blushes, knowing that he’s been babbling. “I-i’m not sure if I can. I’m not exactly good at conversation. 

“What’re you talking about? You’ve been talking to Sam and me all night. I mean, you’re kind of awkward sounding, but once you get started on something you’re fine.”

The other man pauses for a second, and when he finally replies Dean can hear the smile in his voice. “Thank you, then. My father--he can be difficult, that’s all. Especially when it comes to Luke and Anna.” 

“Oh,” Dean says softly. “Well, that I understand. My dad wasn’t exactly a piece of cake either.”

“Yes, Anna mentioned he had left you and Sam some time ago.”

“Really? Did she tell you everything I put in those letters, or just the depressing details?” 

It’s so quiet Dean can actually hear Cas scraping his teeth against his bottom lip, and for a second he imagines what the other man must look like right now, only a silhouette in the darkness, his hair even messier than usual and his lip slightly swollen. For some reason it makes something in his stomach jump, so he shakes his head, hurries to concentrate on what Cas is saying. 

“Anna made a habit of confiding in me, as Michael and Luke have always been a bit distant towards us, the youngest. And once she realized she would be too ill to go, she...wanted me to know you, I suppose. Is that all right? 

Dean sighs. “Yeah, it’s fine. Listen, I’m sorta beat, but how about tomorrow I walk you into town and we see if we can find you something to do with the Harvelles? They’ve always got job openings, and if not, well, Ellen owes me one. That sound good with you?”

For some reason, the fact that Castiel’s “yes” comes out surprised makes Dean smile

 


	3. Chapter 3

When Castiel walks into the Harvelles’ general store, Ellen’s first reaction is to snap at him to get out of the way, they’ve got a new cash register being lugged in by Jo and Ash. Cas just stands there, blinking at her, making it up to Dean to _pull_ him out of the way, the pair of them nearly stumbling into the china cabinet.   

When the register is safely on the counter, Ellen sighs, crosses her arms, and says “Well, what do you two fools want? And Dean, don’t you have a wife you need to be tending to now?”

“Ellen, this is Castiel Milton. Cas, this is Ellen.” 

“Milton?” Jo asks, elbowing Ash out of the way. “As in your--”

“My sister, Anna, is Dean’s fiancée,” Cas explains calmly. “But she is currently ill.”

“So he’s staying with us until she gets better,” Dean finishes for him. “Think you can find him something to do, Ellen? Because he’s not exactly made for farming.” 

Cas blushes. “I-i’m sure I could help you and Sam out with the work,” he says, as if he isn’t skinnier than Ash, with hands that look like they’ve never done a day of work in their life. 

“We’ve been needing someone to help us with the deliveries for a while, actually,” Ellen says, and even though her arms are still crossed Dean can already tell that she likes Cas, at least enough to offer him a job. “Pay wouldn’t be all that much, of course.”

And just like that, Cas has a job. 

Of course, when Dean returns home alone (having promised to pick up Cas just before supper), Sam just about pitches a fit. Turns out most of Cas’s deliveries are going to be made to the Moore family, who have a daughter that Sam’s sweet on. 

“There goes any chances you might’ve had with her, Sammy,” Dean teases cheerfully. “One look at Cas’s baby blues and I’m sure she’ll be a goner.” 

Sam tackles him, understandably.

Once they bother to quit wrestling, they actually manage to get some work done, for once, and by the time Dean goes to get Cas he’s pretty tuckered out, sweat staining his collar. 

Jody’s gentleman friend is at the store, talking to Ellen at the counter. Dean walks in just as she says “Sorry, Mr. Singer, but seeing as the town’s only really been around for about twenty years, our records aren’t the best. Not that there would really be all that much to record, anyway.”

“What’re you talking about, Ellen? You mean every second of my existence has not been marked down by you and Jo for posterity?” Dean asks, his smile fading only slightly when Mr. Singer turns around.

“Who the hell are you?” the other man snaps.

Before Dean can deign to reply he feels someone placing their arm around their shoulders, pulling him in close enough that he _feels_ , rather than hears, their response. 

“This is Dean,” Cas says, smiling. “The one I mentioned to you earlier, Mr. Singer?”

Singer raises his eyebrows. “This is your ‘kind man?’ 

Kind man? Dean turns, confused. “You been talking about me, Cas?”

“That’s one way to put it,” Ellen snorts. “He hasn’t been able to shut up about you since he got here.” 

“An exaggeration.” If Dean didn’t know better, he’d say Cas was blushing. “The journey here was not particularly eventful, so I resorted to talking about yesterday evening instead. 

About halfway through this little explanation Jo happened to step behind the counter, and hearing that she rolls her eyes. “You mean your resorted to saying ‘Oh, _Dean_ was so _kind_ to take me in.’”

“‘I expected you country folk to be somewhat rough and tumble, but _Dean_ was so civilized,’” Ellen continues.

“‘It truly is confusing how well _Dean_ can handle managing such a large piece of property and take care of his brother.’”

“‘Mr. Moore was understandably skilled at handling the horses, yet I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if _Dean_ had been there.’”

“Sometimes I find myself imagining that _Dean_ \--’”

“All right, all right, we all get your point,” Mr. Singer sighed. “Anyway, so there’s no records at all? Not even by the miners?”

 “We’re more a supply town than a mining one,” Ellen shrugs. “You might check with Ash at the train station, though, he’s good at finding things. What do you need ‘em for?”

“Sorry, ma’am, but that’s my business,” Singer replies, before promptly putting his hat back on his head, bidding the storeowner good day, and walking out.

Ellen shakes her head. “He’s a strange man, isn’t he?”

Jo nods in agreement. “Jody really knows how to pick ‘em. Anyway, what do you want, Winchester?”

Dean grins. His rapport with Jo has been established almost since the second they stepped into town five years ago. “Already got it, Harvelle. Just here to take Cas home.”

_Home_. He wonders if that’s what they’re going to be to Cas, at least until Anna gets better. Admittedly, he’d spent more than a couple of minutes today thinking about her, wondering exactly how ill she was. When they were still in the city he and Sam had both come down with a terrible fever, and he remembers how awful that had been. Chills, hallucinations, the whole deal. He’d spent the entire time seeing his mother out of the corner of his eye, imagining her cold hand pressed to his forehead. 

God, he hopes Anna gets better fast. 

In the meantime, he is still tucked under Cas’s arm, and, glancing at the clock hanging behind the counter, it really is time for them go.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel is surprisingly talkative on the walk back home, chattering easily about the Harvelles and Moores, asking Dean what he and Sam have been doing all day. Honestly, in comparison to the shy man who approached Dean at the train station, this Cas just seems _freer_.  

Dean chuckles to himself. “You know, if you’re going to act like this after like six hours with the Harvelles, we really should make sure you get out more often.”

“I wasn’t only with the Harvelles,” Cas corrects him gently. “I was also with the Moore family.”

“Oh, right, how’d you like them?”

“They were quite friendly. I mostly spoke with their daughter, Jessica.” 

In other words, the girl Sam was sweet on. “Really?” Dean asks. “And was she as nice as everybody else you’ve been meeting?”

Just as expected, Cas nods enthusiastically. “She is quite educated. It’s no wonder Sam is interested in her romantically.”

“Wait, who told you?” Sam is a complete _girl_ about harboring affection and tends to guard the identity of whatever girl he has his eye on with a fierceness bordering on obsession. 

“Sam did, while you were out tending to the horses last night.” 

Huh. His moose of a brother was already trusting this almost-stranger with his deepest secrets? 

“Well, that’s good. Means you won’t go and try to court her, right? Because Sam’s liked her for ages.”

Cas blushes. “W-why would I court her?”

Seriously? “Because, well, uh, that’s what you do. If a girl likes you, I mean. Or if you like her.” 

“When you say ‘likes’ do you mean possesses a romantic interest?”

“Erm, yeah.”

Cas seems to consider this. “I am not interested in Ms. Moore romantically, though I might like to pursue a friendship with her. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The way he says this is so earnest, almost hopeful, that Dean can’t help but laugh again. “Yeah, Cas, that’s what I wanted to hear. It’s the truth, right?”

Once again the other man looks surprised. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“How’m I supposed to know? Only met you yesterday.”

“Even with that being the case, why would I ever have cause for dishonesty?”

Dean shakes his head. “Christ, when Anna said her little brother was innocent, she wasn’t kidding.”

And that just starts Cas blushing again. Honestly, at this rate they aren’t going to get anywhere. There’s a little pocket of silence in the conversation before he mumbles “How would you...go about courting someone?”

“I’m not exactly the best person to ask,” Dean chuckles, “considering I had to find a wife through a newspaper advertisement.”

“You still have far more knowledge than I do on the subject.”

“Well, I guess that’s true. But the only people I ever really saw do those sort of things were my parents, and since they’d already gotten together and everything by the time Sammy and I cam around, obviously, it was mostly my father trying to get Ma to forgive him after a fight.” 

This interests Cas enough that he stops to study Dean, tilting his head to the side and narrowing his eyes just like he had done at the train station the day before. It makes him look, Dean thinks somewhat affectionately, like the old carved owl on top of the Harvelles’ clock. Like he deserves an answer.

“I guess,” a deep breath, and then Dean continues, “I guess if Anna was here right now, I’d be courting her. I tried to, anyway, in my letters, but that wouldn’t be enough. So maybe I’d take her down to this meadow a few miles south of here for a picnic or something. Or we’d sit on the Harvelles’ porch while Jo teased the hell out of me. That answer your question?”

Cas frowns. “No. You and I were being ‘teased’ by Jo on the porch of her family’s store earlier today. How is that different?”

Something about this makes Dean blush, ever so slightly, and something about that makes the old anger rise up in him, too sharp and too fast. “It just is, all right? Now stopping asking so many damn questions.”

Just like that, Cas is silent, only the noise of his slick city shoes scuffing against the dirt to prove he’s still walking beside Dean. 

They’re almost home when Castiel suddenly says “My father always says that I ask too many questions."  
 

“Oh.” In the cool night air, the word comes out feeling like a shout, and Dean hurries to quiet down. “I mean, I’m sorry. Didn’t know that. And it-it’s fine, most of the time. Really.”

“He says that Luke and I are different in that Luke fights, actually chooses to rebel, while I stand by and calmly debate every order he gives.” A shaky breath. “He says what I do is worse.” 

And it may sound stupid, because they’ve barely known each other for more than a day but all of a sudden Dean is filled with the urge to _hold on_ to Cas, to latch onto the other man and not let go, because he is not sure how to comfort, just knows he has to do something. So he settles for a wrapping his fingers tightly around the angle of Castiel’s shoulder, the two of them coming to a stop. 

“Your father doesn’t know shit,” Dean says, because that is the sort of thing he is used to saying.

Still not making eye contact, Castiel bites his lip and nods, and it feels like progress. 


	5. Chapter 5

By the end of the week, Dean, Cas, and Sam have fallen into a routine. Castiel (now able to step out the front door without getting lost), leaves for the Harvelles’ around the same time as Sam does for school, leaving Dean to do as much work as he can until his brother returns, at which point he begins the short walk back to the store, where he endures Ellen’s teasing for a few minutes before bringing Cas home.

Even though they both know Cas can make the walk on his own, neither of them ever mention it. 

That Saturday Dean watches Cas open a letter from his father with shaking hands, allows the disappointment to seep into his spine when Castiel turns to him and says “Anna is still feeling unwell.”

It’s almost sweet, really, how concerned he obviously is for his sister’s welfare. Dean can see it in the way Cas’s eyebrows crinkle up as he folds the letter neatly, returning it to its envelope. 

“That all it says?” Sam asks, genuinely curious.

A vein in Castiel’s neck is jumping. “Yes.”

Funny, but even with the knowledge that Anna is still (most likely) delirious in bed somewhere, all Dean can focus on is that one line of blue across Cas’s throat, twitching every few seconds. 

And it can’t possibly be his fault, not really, that things like that just keep _happening_. Cas appears, and Dean’s skin turns too tight. Cas offers to help Sam with one of his books, and Dean’s heart is in his throat. Cas leans just a bit too close one day while Ellen is busy at the cash register, and Dean’s stomach is twisting itself into knots.

“Jess asked after Sam today,” Cas proclaims proudly, like the youngest Winchester has won a prize. “I’m assuming this also means she has romantic designs?” 

Dean laughs and says “Slow down for a second there, yeah?” while grinning at his brother’s bright red cheeks.

“Shut your mouth,” Sammy mumbles, and even Cas cracks a smile.

When the laughter has died down a little, Castiel turns to Sam, once again serious. “It would be rather helpful if you helped me in deliveries tomorrow. The Moore family is expecting a rather large package and I am unsure whether I would be the suitable man for delivering it.”

It’s not like Cas hasn’t done anything like this before--he’s always eager to help Sam with his schoolwork, eagerly volunteering to wash the dishes after supper or be the one to get up early and milk the cow. Still, Dean can’t help but laugh again and hope Anna takes after her brother.

“You mean it?” Sam’s eyes are as wide as moons. “I mean, I d-don’t know if I--I mean, if she would even be interested--is it really heavy?”

Deadpan, Cas replies with “Extremely heavy.” 

“Golly, if it’s that bad maybe I should help out too,” Dean teases.

Sam’s indignant “No!” proves that he really does know the level of evilness his older brother can attain. 

Meanwhile, all Castiel does is blink owlishly. “That will not be necessary.” 

And maybe Dean spends the next day just a little grumpier than usual, because with Sam helping Cas out there is absolutely no excuse for him to walk their guest back from the Harvelles’, meaning all he can do is sit at home and make what could quite possibly be considered the worst dinner ever.

“How’d it go?” he asks when Sam bursts through the door, but the question is sort of unnecessary, considering the fact that about 80% of his little brother’s face has been enveloped by a giant grin. 

“It was the best! The Moores are _so_ friendly, and did you know Mr. Moore used to be a teacher? He said he’d put in a good word for me with any programs I’ll be applying for next year, and Mrs. Moore--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know they’re nice, but what about their daughter? 

Of course, that’s what makes Sam quiet down. “She was nice,” he mumbles, even his ears red.

“Jessica and Sam spent nearly half an hour talking,” Cas supplies, just coming in from the cold himself. 

“Cas, she must’ve corrected you half a million times! It’s Jess!”

“Maybe it’s only ‘Jess’ to you, Sammy,” Dean grins, flinching when Sam socks him on the arm. “Anyway, did you two get the things I needed from the store? Because all making this supper has done is proven I don’t have Sam’s cooking skills.”

Of course, because Dean has the worst luck in the world, Cas shakes his head. “My apologies, Sam and I were so...giddy...after our deliveries that it simply slipped my mind.” 

Somehow, just looking at Cas’s face sucks all the anger right out of Dean. “Fine. I’ve been needing to have a talk with Jo for a while now, anyway.” 

Sam snorts. “What do you mean, ‘have a talk?’ You see her every day!” 

Great, Dean was hoping the two of them would be distracted enough not to notice, but apparently he’ll never be allowed a damn inch of privacy. “Just, you know, stuff,” he mumbles, and of course now he’s the one blushing 

“‘Stuff?’” Now Castiel has ganged up on him too, tilting his head at that strange angle again in a way that makes something in Dean ache. 

“Yeah, ‘stuff,’ okay? I understand that we spend almost every waking moment of our lives together, but that doesn’t mean--Oh, and _now_ what?”

Cas is biting his lip as if to keep from smiling. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Dean.”

“Just--agh!” And with that Dean is storming out the house, now with a whole new set of things to complain to Jo about.


End file.
